


Bolt From The Blue

by telperion_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Angst, Epiphanies, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstanding, Oblivious, Pre-Relationship, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever really believed in epiphanies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bolt From The Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday fic for luninosity, for the following song lyric prompt from Weezer's 'Falling for You':  
>  _I'm shaking at your touch  
>  I like you way too much  
> baby, I'm afraid I'm falling for you  
> and I'd do 'bout anything to get the hell out alive  
> or maybe I would rather settle down   
> with you..._
> 
> Spoilers for XMFC.

“So, I was thinking that we should play Charles and Erik as if they’re madly in love.”  
  
Michael choked on his mouthful of coffee, and then hastily grabbed a napkin and pressed it to his mouth to prevent him from coughing it everywhere. James stepped forward, obviously concerned, but Michael waved him away.  
  
It took him a moment or two to get himself under control, but when he could speak again without wheezing, he fixed James with a doubtful look and said, “I beg your pardon?”  
  
James still looked faintly worried, but explained himself nonetheless. “Well, it seems obvious to me that they _are_ madly in love. Don’t you think so?”  
  
“I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it in those terms,” Michael replied. “There’s a connection there, certainly, and they do become very close very quickly, but in love…?”  
  
“But that’s precisely what I’m talking about!” James exclaimed earnestly. “That connection. Neither of them has ever met their equal before, and they recognise that in each other instantly. How could that not develop into love?”  
  
“It was the sixties, James,” Michael reminded him.  
  
“So? People didn’t fall in love in the sixties?”  
  
“It would have been dangerous for them. They are both men, after all.”  
  
“Do you think either of them were overly concerned with the rules?”  
  
“I suppose not,” Michael admitted.  
  
“Look, if you really don’t see it, then I’m not going to force my interpretation on you. It just struck me as obvious, that’s all. I’m not sure there’s really any other way I _could_ play the relationship – or at least, Charles’ side of it – at this point.”  
  
“No, wait… Look, if that’s the way you want to go, then I’m up for that.” Michael smiled. “I’m willing to be converted,” he added.  
  
James grinned. “Great! And it’s not like it’s going to be particularly overt, anyway. As you say, this was the sixties, and besides, I don’t think the pair of them in romantic clinches over the chessboard is quite the vibe we should be going for…”  
  
Michael laughed at that, imagining it briefly. “Yes, I think that would make for rather a different sort of film,” he agreed.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
As it turned out, playing an Erik who was in love with Charles wasn’t that different from playing Erik the way Michael had originally decided to play him. It wasn’t that much of a jump from imagining a connection forged from an instant recognition of a kindred spirit to imagining a connection forged with a soul-mate, and he realised that James might have a point, after all.  
  
In fact, the only changes he really had to make to his performance were those of body language and expression – perhaps standing a little closer to James during a scene than he had originally planned, maybe letting Erik’s eyes alight on Charles fractionally more than before – things slight and subtle enough that he wondered whether anyone would pick up on them at all.  
  
James, of course, went a bit further, but then, Charles was obviously the more emotionally expressive of the two characters, and therefore the extra touches he bestowed on Michael, and the smiles that Charles frequently sent Erik’s way, were not especially at odds with his personality.  
  
And Matthew seemed to approve the way they were playing things too. Either that, or he hadn’t noticed what they were doing. Michael had no idea whether James had apprised him of their plan before filming had started, but he certainly didn’t seem to have a problem with it, either way.  
  
But it wasn’t until several weeks into filming that Michael realised just how much he’d adopted James’ interpretation as his own.  
  
“Erik’s frightened,” he said, the words dropping into the comfortable silence that had fallen between him and James while they shared a brief break in Michael’s trailer.  
  
They were due to fly out to Georgia in a couple of days, to film the Cuban beach scenes, and therefore the climax of Erik and Charles’ relationship had been on his mind rather.  
  
James looked up from the script pages he was perusing – their relocation meant that they were a little strapped for time to finish up the current filming block, and they were both trying to make sure they knew the afternoon’s scene as well as possible, to avoid any unnecessary delays.  
  
“Frightened of what?” he asked.  
  
“Of what’s between him and Charles. Let’s face it, he’s spent basically the whole of his adult life bent on revenge against Schmidt. He’s had no time for love, or even friendship – the last time he felt anything like that was before he and his family were dragged off to the camps. And since then he’s almost forgotten how to feel those things.”  
  
“Until Charles comes along.”  
  
“Until Charles comes along.” Michael nodded. “And now, suddenly, he’s experiencing emotions – _strong_ emotions – that he doesn’t know what do with. And more, that are getting in the way of his revenge. There’s a little voice inside his head whispering that perhaps killing Schmidt doesn’t have to be the be all and end all of everything, and he doesn’t know how to react to that. He’s not thought of anything else for years, after all.”  
  
“So you think his deserting Charles isn’t just about the difference in their ideologies?” James said slowly, obviously mulling over what Michael had said. “You think he’s running from his feelings too?”  
  
“He’s worried they make him weak. And the last time he was weak, as he sees it, he got his mother killed and delivered himself into Schmidt’s clutches. Weakness is not something he tolerates in himself.”  
  
“Of course, Charles would tell him that they don’t make him weak at all. They make him a person. They make him _human_.”  
  
“Which would go down like a lead balloon with Erik,” Michael said wryly.  
  
“True. Although that doesn’t make Charles wrong.”  
  
“No. But Erik’s spent so long building his walls, and focusing only on his goals that he can’t let himself be compromised now. Not even for Charles. No matter how much there’s a tiny part of him, deep down inside, that might want to. That might want to let go of all that rage and hate and embrace the serenity that Charles knows is still inside him.”  
  
“But wait.” James frowned suddenly. “Erik does say that he wants them to be together, during that scene, remember?”  
  
“But on _his_ terms,” Michael pointed out. “He wants Charles by _his_ side, not the other way round. He wants Charles to agree with his ideology – he sees that as the only way they can be together – that way he won’t _have_ to compromise himself or his goals.” Then Michael frowned in turn. “What are you looking so happy about all of a sudden?” he asked.  
  
James’ grin widened. “I was just thinking that you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” he said. “It’s kind of sweet, considering that you weren’t totally on board with the idea to start with.”  
  
“There’s no need to sound quite so smug about it,” Michael retorted. He contemplated throwing a cushion at James, but then decided that would be cruelty to soft furnishings. “What do you want me to say? That you were right, they’re obviously in love and this was a great idea?”  
  
“Well, that might be a start,” James teased. “I am right about most things, after all.”  
  
To hell with cruelty, Michael decided, and threw the cushion anyway.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Michael was distracted. James knew this because, despite the fact that the other man had been staring at him ever since they’d left the beach – it was rather unnerving, if James was the kind of person to be unnerved by such things – he was sure that if he asked Michael to repeat back any of the things he’d said in the last ten minutes, Michael wouldn’t be able to recall a single one.  
  
“And then Caleb told me that he’d been abducted by aliens last night, and they’d taken him to this really awesome party in Miami where everyone danced the Macarena all night long… Oi, Earth to Michael!”  
  
Michael blinked. “Sorry, what?”  
  
James rolled his eyes. “Never mind. Look, are you okay? You seem a bit, well, out of it.”  
  
“Oh, I’m fine.”  
  
“I mean, it’s not been the easiest of days, has it? Not that I can say it was all that physically demanding, lying there in your arms for hours on end, but, well…”  
  
He trailed off when his cheeky wink elicited no reaction at all, even though Michael was _still_ staring at him. It was almost as if James had sprouted another head without him noticing, which he had to admit _would_ warrant all the staring.  
  
He checked to either side. No, no extra heads.  
  
“Seriously, Michael, _are_ you okay?” Still no reaction. “Hey!” He pulled off one of his gloves and tossed it at Michael, hitting him on the shoulder.  
  
Michael started slightly, and refocused on James once more. “What? Oh, yes, really, I’m fine. Like you said, not the easiest of days. I’m just a bit drained, that’s all.” He tried for a smile that James didn’t buy for a second. “You might have had it easy, lying in my arms, but I was the one who had to hold you all day. And you’re not exactly a lightweight.”  
  
“I’ll try not to be insulted by that,” James replied wryly. “Look, I’m going to grab a shower, okay – I’ve got sand in places no one should ever get sand – but do you want to meet up later and go over tomorrow’s stuff?”  
  
“I, er, think I’m just going to call it a day, actually,” Michael said. “You don’t mind, do you?”  
  
“Of course not,” James told him. “But you’re sure you’re all right, though?”  
  
“I’m sure. I’m just…tired.”  
  
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good evening.”  
  
But Michael didn’t answer, and as James headed off in the direction of his trailer and a shower, he could feel Michael’s eyes following him again.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever really believed in epiphanies. Sudden realisations that changed your life, or shed light on your problems, had always seemed a little bit too convenient to him. Life didn’t work like that.  
  
Except he didn’t know how else to describe what had happened to him today.  
  
It had started…well, actually, it had probably started the previous day, when he’d had to watch James pretend to get shot and tumble into the sand over and over again. That hadn’t been much fun, and by the fifth or sixth take Michael couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the bruises James was going to have, and how much he was probably going to ache, and why couldn’t they have got a stunt person to do this for him?  
  
But James had brushed all that off when Michael had asked, even though it was obvious that he was _already_ starting to bruise, and although Michael had taken him at his word, he’d still brought James a hot water bottle later, for his aches and pains, and been glad that James wasn’t too badly banged up.  
  
But yesterday he still hadn’t _really_ suspected. Yesterday he’d still thought James was only his friend.  
  
Today, however, he’d realised that wasn’t true.  
  
The first inkling had come when he’d fallen to his knees beside James’ prone form, and then pulled him up into his arms. James had looked up at him, all big blue eyes and pain-etched features, and Michael had felt a wave of protectiveness sweep over him. _This_ was only pretend, but he knew he never wanted to see James look like that in real life.  
  
But it wasn’t until he started talking, saying those lines that he’d thought about far more than he’s expected to back when James had first made his suggestion, pouring all of Erik’s emotions into them, that it had really, truly hit him. Like a bolt from the blue, as the saying went.  
  
Those emotions weren’t just Erik’s.  
  
“I want you by my side,” he’d said, and it hadn’t just been Erik talking to Charles. It had been Michael talking to James, too.  
  
Suddenly realising that you had feelings for your co-star while he was lying in your arms on a windswept beach, and you were both enacting the shattering of a relationship – if that wasn’t an epiphany, then Michael didn’t know what was.  
  
James, of course, had been completely unaware. And if Michael had anything to with it, he would remain so.  
  
Which meant that he needed to avoid setting off James’ alarm bells, like he’d nearly done after they’d finished filming. He’d been able to sense James’ worry, and he realised that he’d probably been freaking James out, staring at him like that. But he hadn’t seemed to be able to stop. It was like he couldn’t get enough of looking at James, at the same time as his brain was tying itself in knots, trying to work out what he felt about all this – whether to be happy, or to do a little freaking out of his own.  
  
Not that he really thought that happy was an option. James had shown no sign of feeling anything like what Michael had realised he felt for him, and therefore it was extremely likely that the word ‘unrequited’ was going to feature rather heavily in Michael’s future.  
  
But he could deal with that. After all, he’d apparently been doing a pretty good job of ignoring his feelings up until now – there was no reason he couldn’t carry on doing it.  
  
He chose not to listen to the little voice in his head, that sounded a bit like James and a bit like Charles, that was telling him, _Famous last words, my friend, famous last words…_  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Being in such close proximity to someone who was so tense wasn’t much fun, James was beginning to discover. The bed might be large, but it wasn’t so large that he could avoid touching Michael, and he could tell, pressed together from shoulder to hip at they were, that Michael was strung tighter than a bowstring.  
  
Between takes, while Zoe was having her tattoo makeup checked, he leaned toward Michael a little more and asked, “Is something the matter? If it’s the whole ‘Dragneto’ thing, then you don’t have to, you know. It’ll probably just end up in the deleted scenes anyway.”  
  
He tried a grin, but Michael didn’t smile back. Instead, he rather looked like he wanted to lean away from James, only he realised that if he tried, he’d more than likely end up tumbling off the side of the bed.  
  
“It’s not that.”  
  
“But it is something?” James persisted, quickly registering the annoyance in Michael’s expression that told him Michael wished he’d kept his mouth shut.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Michael said. “I’m just trying to get into character, that’s all. I don’t think Erik would be terribly comfortable in this position.”  
  
“What, in a strip club?” James thought about it. “I don’t see that. I mean, he must have had to go into all sorts of shady places while he was hunting down Schmidt’s associates. He’s probably used to it.”  
  
“No, I mean…oh, never mind.”  
  
“No, tell me. It would help if we’re singing from the same song-sheet, after all.”  
  
“I just don’t think Erik would be comfortable being in this situation with Charles,” Michael said, a bit desperately.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, with them being in love and everything…” Michael trailed off, omitting any specifics.  
  
James chuckled. “You think Erik’s having trouble resisting the urge to pounce on Charles and have his wicked way with him, is that it?”  
  
“No! I just…feel uncomfortable. Can we drop it, please? I’ll loosen up a bit if that’s the way you want to play it.”  
  
James frowned. There was something in what Michael had just said… A second later he had it. “Hang on a minute, did you just say _you_ feel uncomfortable? I thought we were talking about Erik?”  
  
Michael looked as if he wanted to bite his own tongue off.  
  
“Am I doing something to make you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’m really sorry. I just thought that maybe Charles would rather enjoy this experience.”  
  
“No, it’s not you, it’s… Look, seriously, can we just drop it?”  
  
But James could feel the puzzle pieces sliding into place in his head. Michael’s weirdness while they’d been filming the beach scenes, the odd occasion that he’d caught Michael staring at him strangely since then, Michael’s sudden desire to spend more time on his own instead of with James. And now this.  
  
“Michael,” he said, under the clatter of noise from the rest of the set, “are you trying to tell me that you’re…?”  
  
“Drop it, James,” Michael said sharply. And then, with a pleading note in his voice, “ _Please._ ”  
  
“Okay guys, we’re ready to go again!” Matthew called suddenly, and James wasn’t sure if Michael had heard his quiet “Okay,” or not.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
James McAvoy was a hard man to avoid, it turned out. Of course, Michael couldn’t completely stay out of his way, in any case – playing the leading roles in a film, with a significant proportion of their scenes together, made that an impossibility (although Michael could – and did – act as professionally as possible during filming, and attempted not to remain alone with James between takes).  
  
But oddly enough, it was when the filming stopped that Michael was finding it most difficult to steer clear of James. The man seemed to have some kind of sixth sense when it came to Michael’s location (or perhaps he’d just had some kind of tracking device planted on Michael – maybe under the skin when Michael was sleeping, so he wouldn’t find it – he was starting to wonder whether that idea was as crazy as it sounded). No matter where Michael went, James was either there before him, or was guaranteed to pop up within a couple of minutes. He appeared completely un-phased by the cold shoulder Michael was _trying_ to give him.  
  
Lesser men would have got bored with continually talking to the human equivalent of a brick wall. Lesser men would probably have got pissed off at having all their efforts rebuffed, and given up long ago. But no matter how many doors James had shut in his face, or how many times Michael pointedly excluded him from his conversations and company, James kept on coming back.  
  
He was a glutton for punishment, it seemed.  
  
Today was no exception. For once, they’d actually been filming separate scenes, and Michael had revelled in the fact that every time he looked up the source of his total humiliation was _not_ looking back at him.  
  
And he wouldn’t have been surprised if Matthew had noticed the difference, either. Michael had been doing his damnedest not to let his performance be affected by what had happened, but he felt sure that some of the awkwardness he was now feeling in James’ presence must have bled through. And as for the whole ‘Erik and Charles are madly in love’ thing – well, James might still be subscribing to that interpretation, but Michael was beginning to have serious second thoughts about it.  
  
However, it appeared his glorious freedom was not to last. Arriving at his trailer, he found James sitting on the steps, waiting for him. _Again._  
  
“Excuse me,” he muttered, pointedly looking everywhere but at James. The stairs were narrow, and with James sitting on them there was no space for Michael to slip past to the door.  
  
“Oh, come on, Michael, you can’t avoid me forever, you know.”  
  
Perhaps it was James’ oh-so-reasonable tone of voice. Or perhaps it was the fact that James’ words were unfortunately true. Whatever the reason, Michael found himself suddenly furious. “For fuck’s sake, James, can’t you just leave me alone with my mortification?” he snarled. “It’s bad enough that I made a total and utter fool of myself, without you pitying me and trying to tell me it’s okay at every turn. I don’t need your condescension!”  
  
James looked startled, and then suddenly annoyed. “I’m not trying to bloody condescend to you!” he said. “Neither do I pity you. But it _is_ okay, and if you’d bothered to think about it for more than a few seconds you’d probably be able to work out why. _And_ why I haven’t just given up and left you to stew.”  
  
“Well, why, then?”  
  
However, instead of answering straight away, James stood up, and looked down at Michael from the steps of the trailer. “Are you sure you want to do this out here in public?” he asked. “We’ve already attracted something of an audience.”  
  
Michael glanced over his shoulder, and saw Kevin and Jason – both still in costume and therefore very much _not_ inconspicuous – lounging against the side of Kevin’s trailer opposite, doing a terrible job of pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on every word he and James were saying.  
  
“Fine,” he retorted. “Let’s go inside.” He waited for James to hop down off the steps, and then climbed them himself to open the trailer door. For a second he entertained the idea of slamming it in James’ face again, but then reluctantly decided that acting like a child probably wasn’t going to help at this point. And anyway, James was practically treading on his heels, obviously taking no chances in letting Michael do exactly what he’d just contemplated.  
  
He barely gave James a chance to shut the door behind them before he rounded on him and fixed him with a glare. “So come on, then,” he demanded. “Tell me what it is I’ve been missing while I’ve been trying to prevent my heart being stamped on even more.”  
  
But James just gave him an unfathomable look. “Who exactly has stamped on your heart?” he said, the annoyingly calm tone of voice back again.  
  
Michael sighed harshly, realising what he was being led into. “See, this is just the kind of conversation I’ve been trying to avoid for the past week,” he said. “Do we really have to do this?”  
  
“Who?” James repeated.  
  
Michael opened his mouth to snap “You,” deciding abruptly that if James wanted to push then they were damn well going to have it out, and then...stopped, as he suddenly realised exactly what James’ point was.  
  
“That’s right,” James said, still in that infuriatingly level tone. “No one.” And now he looked a little hurt. “Certainly not me. And quite frankly I’m a bit insulted that you’ve managed to convince yourself that I’d do that.”  
  
“James…”  
  
“You didn’t intend to reveal your feelings – I get that. And I understand why you might think you had to be…mortified, I believe you said? But that was all you, Michael. Have I ever mocked you for your feelings? Or indicated that I found them distasteful?”  
  
“No!” Michael protested. “And I’d _never_ think you’d do that. That’s not what I meant. I meant…”  
  
“You thought I felt sorry for you,” James interrupted, more gently. “‘Poor Michael, he’s developed a crush on his co-star, but sorry, I don’t feel that way about you, we can still be friends though.’ That kind of thing?”  
  
“I suppose so.”  
  
“Well, that’s not it either.”  
  
“So why have you been bugging me every minute of every day?” Michael asked, exasperated. “If you’d found my feelings distasteful you would have left, but you didn’t. But you say that your constant presence isn’t about trying to convince me we can still be friends. So what is it, James?”  
  
“What did I say? That if you thought about it for more than a few seconds you’d be able to work it out?” said James, giving him another unreadable look. “So _think_ about it.”  
  
So, with a fair amount of ill grace, Michael did. And approximately thirty seconds later an idea occurred to him – a reason that explained all of James’ persistence. Albeit a reason that seemed too good to be true.  
  
“Oh…”  
  
“Yes, ‘oh’,” James said, smiling a small smile. “Let me ask you a question. Why do you think I suggested that we play Charles and Erik as in love?”  
  
“Because you thought they _were_ in love,” Michael replied, suddenly confused.  
  
“Well, yes, okay, I did think that, and I still do. But that wasn’t the whole reason.” James looked faintly embarrassed all of a sudden. “I knew that if we went down that route it would give me an excuse to indulge myself – a reason to be closer to you, to touch you more, to watch you more. To…well, display my own feelings, but with Charles to hide behind at the same time. More than a bit creepy stalker, I grant you, but I didn’t think it would do any harm – not to you, anyway.”  
  
“Oh,” said Michael again, somewhat inarticulately. Then he pulled himself together enough to ask, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell _me?_ ” James shot back instantly, which Michael supposed was a fair point.  
  
“Annoyingly, I couldn’t work out what your response would be,” continued James. “You’re too good an actor, damn you. It was more than likely that any reciprocation I thought I was getting was just you playing Erik.”  
  
“It was, at first,” Michael confessed quietly. “At least, I _thought_ it was. It took me a while to realise what was going on inside my own head. And then, well, I didn’t say anything because I thought any positive signs were just you playing Charles.”  
  
James sighed. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”  
  
“But why _didn’t_ you tell me?” Michael repeated. “After I…let it slip? You knew how I felt, and you knew how you felt. ‘Michael, I like you too’ would have been good enough. Just five words.”  
  
“You didn’t exactly give me much of a chance, did you?” James said. “I think the Arctic would have been warmer than the cold shoulder you’ve been giving me the past few days.” He smiled ruefully. “And to be honest, after the fifth or sixth brush-off, I got a bit annoyed, and stubbornly decided that you could just work it out for yourself.”  
  
“And that plan worked really well, didn’t it?”  
  
“Well, forgive me for not realising I’d have to spell it out in words of two syllables or less in order for you to get it!” James protested. “I was crediting you with some intelligence – a mistake, as it turns out.”  
  
“Hey! So sorry for not being able to psychically divine your feelings. I’m not the telepath round here, remember?”  
  
James rolled his eyes, started to say something back, and then abruptly stopped and stared at Michael for several seconds before suddenly bursting into laughter.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Michael asked, a bit grumpily.  
  
“Us,” James said, still chuckling. “And the fact that we seem to have completely ignored our mutual declarations of affection in favour of arguing about our own stubborn natures.”  
  
“Living in a Jane Austen novel now, are we?” muttered Michael, but he couldn’t prevent the smile that was growing on his face as he realised that James was right – not about the arguing (although they had been), but about the mutual liking.  
  
“So, Mr Fassbender, I heard a rumour that you might have a bit of a crush on me,” James said, grinning now.  
  
“And a little bird’s just told me that you might have a crush on me too, Mr McAvoy,” Michael replied, playing along.  
  
He wasn’t prepared for the sudden dimming of James’ cheerful expression.  
  
“A bit more than a crush, if I’m being truthful,” James confessed, flushing slightly pink.  
  
Michael smiled again. “Well, in that case, you’re in good company,” he said.  
  
James’ grin came back at that, and almost before Michael could blink he’d moved away from the door (and it wasn’t until he did that Michael realised how much he’d been keeping James’ at arm’s length – he’d missed having James close) and into Michael’s personal space.  
  
“So, can I kiss you now?” James asked, delightfully straightforward. “I’ve been wanting to for quite a long time, you know.”  
  
“Oh, I think that can be arranged,” Michael said, and slid his arms around James to pull him closer.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sometime later, when they’d migrated to the couch and Michael had done a pretty thorough job of messing up James’ hair with his fingers, and reddening James’ lips with his own, James lifted his head from where those lips had been tracing across the skin of Michael’s throat and asked, “So when _did_ you realise?”  
  
Michael made an annoyed sound at the cessation of previous activities and then, because James was looking at him expectantly (and he had the feeling that there was very little he was going to be able to refuse that blue-eyed gaze in the future) answered the question.  
  
“On the beach. When I worked out that I might be projecting a few of my own feelings through Erik. Not that I knew I had those feelings before that point.”  
  
James laughed. “I’m not surprised! That was all rather intense – _you_ were very intense. I almost wanted to say the hell with it and allow Charles to be persuaded to go with Erik. Matthew’s always going on about how improvisation is a good thing, after all.”  
  
“I’m not sure he’d condone the kind of improvisation that completely changes the end of the movie, though,” Michael said. “That might be taking a bit too far.”  
  
“But he wouldn’t be able to complain about us not making it ‘real’, would he?”  
  
“No, I’m not sure it could have been more real,” Michael agreed. And then, because he couldn’t resist, he reached up and cupped James’ face in his hands, making sure he stayed still while he gazed deeply into his eyes. “I want you by my side,” he said, intending the words to come out as a joke, but somehow ending up sounding a lot more serious.  
  
“Well, that’s useful,” James replied. “Because I think I’ve already demonstrated that I’m a persistent bugger – you’re stuck with me now!”  
  
But although his tone was light and his smile amused, his eyes were earnest and full of feeling, and as he curled himself up against Michael’s side, Michael knew that he’d be happy to be stuck with James for a very long time to come.


End file.
